,I used to think that a night snuggled in the same bed as my kicking, squirming, teeth-gnashing, sweaty, diagonally stretched-out son was an exercise in finding calm in an ocean of comforters and chaos. And then I met the Not Boyfriend.
There are a thousand things I love about this man. How he sleeps is not one of them. He's not the worst sleeper I've co-bedded with - he doesn't snore (often enough to require nasal strips, weight loss, or a CPAP) and he's never asked me to squish into a sliver of a single-sized futon with him (ahem, Ex-Husband). He doesn't breathe on me (much). He doesn't have night terrors, flail his arms, or call out other women's names in the night (ever).
He does a lot right when it comes to bedtime, sweetly encouraging me to tuck in earlier and lending me soft, oversized t-shirts to sleep in. He whispers me to sleep in when he gets up and never minds if I linger when he has to race off to the gym or work at dawn.
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And it's not that his kind of slumber requires a pillow tucked between his knees that takes up more square-inchage than his size of the bed allows. Or that he likes the ceiling fan to whir all night long (shudder: see "breathing on me" above) and thinks a bed sheet is just one more hot, unnecessary layer. It's not the birds outside his window or the construction workers that illegally pound away next door in the early hours or the kid upstairs with the bouncy ball. It's not his pastry-chef hours or his push to hit CrossFit even before he has to start baking at work.
It's the bed. And how many times he gets out of it at night.Read More »from Put to Bed: What If You Can’t Really Sleep with the Person You’re Sleeping With?